It has rained for days. The purple Muck boots Tal bought for me last week (a belated Christmas present; click here to get a glimpse) have been my go-to footwear for five days. The deck under the outside table has turned green. A friend told me she was beginning to mildew!
Then came this morning.
Then came this morning.
While I waited for the coffee to finish brewing, I stepped outside the front door to feel the air. I was greeted by the sun forcing its way through the fog and hints of blue higher in the sky.
An hour later the mist remained heavy, very nearly obscuring the tree line in the distance. But, the light on the palmettos across the street danced.
We watched the light all day -- into the late afternoon.
The table in the kitchen has windows facing north and west. Here the late-afternoon sun streaming through the blinds made competing stripes on the plaid table cloth.
And, the curl of my napkin seemed to glow from within.
While I am not one to complain about gloomy weather (it sort of suits my personality), I did relish today's de-light-ful light. In fact, it interrupted everything I set out to do -- from getting the Christmas decorations into the attic to preparing meals to tending the washer and dryer. I was drawn to notice and to stop and even to reach for the camera. Such interruptions are wonderful invitations to pause, to attend to what's revealing itself, to revel in the sheer magic of it all.
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